Until the World Rights Itself
by Maureen Helton
Summary: This story follows the episode The Doctor in the Photo and explores some of the pain that Brennan is experiencing.


**AN: I just feel like there is a lot of Brennan pain that we only got to glimpse in this episode. This is my take on things.**

"Some people are quite adept at concealing their pain." He own words continually ran through her mind as she tossed and turned in her bed. She pulled the corner of her bedspread over her head and tried not to think. She could remember very few times in her life when she consciously tried to turn off her thoughts, but right now she would do anything to rid herself of the thoughts in her head. She attempted to concentrate on her breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out. Han-nah. No. In, out. In, out. A-lone. A-lone. _No_, she told herself_. No, I'm not alone. I have friends. I am not our victim. People would miss me. Angela, Hodgins, Cam, Sweets, Booth…Booth?_ _Would Booth miss me, or is he too wrapped up in Hannah to even notice? _She sighed and sat up in bed.

_It's not his fault, _her mind argued with itself. _You have nobody to blame for him choosing Hannah. It's your fault. You pushed him away. _She got out of bed and paced around her bedroom a few times before sitting on the edge of her bed. With the pull of a chain, she turned on her bedside table. Her mind barely registered the picture frame that lay face down on the table's surface. She opened the night stand's only drawer and pulled out a small toiletry bag. _No, _she told herself. _No, you don't want to do this. You don't. This is an old habit. You shouldn't need this anymore. _Pushing her thoughts aside, she unpacked the contents of the small bag and centered them in the pool of light thrown by the lamp. Alcohol wipes, a roll of gauze, bandages, medical tape, and finally several sharp razor blades.

She had tried to convince herself several times that this was not the way to live her life. She had herself convinced, but couldn't figure out why she had put together a kit if she did not intend to use it. Sighing heavily, she rolled down the top of her plaid pajama pants. She pulled a new razorblade from its pack and laid it silently on the table. Next she ripped open an alcohol wipe and wiped down the pale flesh of her hip, followed by the razor's sharp edge. She paused with the razor against her skin. This was her last chance to talk herself out of this. No more arguments sprang to mind. As she exhaled, her hand guided the blade against her skin, leaving only a thin line of crimson in its wake. After the first line, several more followed. She blotted her injuries with gauze before any blood could roll onto her pants. She washed her hip thoroughly, yet gently before covering it in bandages to protect against contamination. Pressure relieved, she was finally able to fall into a brief slumber.

Morning came more quickly than she would have liked. Bleary eyed, she made her way into the bathroom where she turned on her shower and stepped under the water. She lathered up her hair, and as the shampoo made its way down to her hips where it stung lightly. She smiled into the shower stream.

Following her shower she redressed her wounds and got dressed. Her professional black work pants were tighter than her nightclothes. With every step she took, she could feel her cuts rubbing against the restrictive fabric. When she stepped into her office at the Jeffersonian the reality of her actions set in. How could she have been so stupid? She hadn't intentionally cut herself since graduate school. There were several cases she had worked with Booth that made her strongly consider hurting herself again. Then she had been able to refrain. Then she had Booth for emotional support. Now all of her friends were paired off and didn't have time for her problems anymore.

How could she have done this? What kind of person intentionally hurts themselves? Sure, she knew the mechanics of why it worked for her. When a body is injured, it releases endorphins which act to elevate a person's mood. Exercise works in the same way, but somehow felt entirely different to her. The endorphin rush wasn't as strong. It wasn't as immediate.

She couldn't remember exactly when she started the act of harming herself, but she also couldn't remember a greatly stressful even that hadn't caused her to injure her body. She hurt herself when she realized her parents were never coming home. When Russ left her in the foster care system, she harmed herself. Every foster home she ever lived in was responsible for an injury of some sort. Sometimes she was able to make it look like an accident. Every other time she hid her wounds. _Some people are quite adept at concealing their pain_, her voice echoed in her head.

That night she cut herself before she could fall asleep. Before she knew it, it had become her nightly routine. Eventually she didn't feel comfortable unless she had a razor blade concealed in her purse when she left her apartment. She didn't plan on using it, of course. It was just there in the even that she would need it. It didn't take long for her impulses to injure to become more serious. Soon she ran out of unbroken skin along her hips. She knew this wasn't a healthy way to live. She should not want to break her own bones.

One day in mid-February she dialed a number into her cell and held it to her ear. Her heart raced as the phone on the other end rang. When he answered, she almost didn't say anything. She took a breath and tried to center herself.

"Yes, good afternoon Doctor Sweets. I'd like to make an appointment to speak with you about a personal matter."

**AN: Yep. Short and to the point, just like me. Please review. **


End file.
